Lee Jinki was extremely clumsy. He could trip on flat ground, and there was only so much Minho could do to keep the awkward human out of harm’s way. Minho found himself wondering more often than not, why was he the one who was assigned to this human? Why not someone more capable?

He asked himself this question frequently not because it was tiring to constantly watch after Jinki, but because Choi Minho was afraid. Minho was afraid that the human who he loved so much would one day get seriously hurt all because Minho hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. Yes, Minho had admitted this; he was in love with Jinki.

Jinki, Jinki, Jinki. He was the only man on Minho’s mind.

He loved Jinki so much that it hurt. Every time Jinki tripped and fell, Minho would almost have a heart attack from worry. Every time Jinki laughed, Minho’s heart would stop for a good minute. Every time Jinki smiled, Minho would go into a daze. He would find himself lost in the beautiful, constantly cheer-holding eyes of his charge at least once a day. Those warm, melted chocolate orbs that twinkled with joy and a hint of mischievousness would one day be the death of the angel, he knew. (That is, if angels could die.) He habitually wondered who was the true angel out of the both of them, because Jinki had a heart made of pure gold.

He’d spent many a night crouching silently by the elder’s side while the brunette was sleeping, watching protectively as the human’s chest rose and fell with every breath. He wished his own chest could move in the natural way, just so that he could imagine he was also a human, and that he could be around the object of his affections physically, solidly. It was a hopeful, yet impossible dream.

Jinki couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him. Minho knew that, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t wave brightly as soon as the man’s eyes flickered open at seven thirty in the morning on the dot. It didn’t mean he couldn’t say good morning, or place a chaste kiss on the brunette’s cheek, or wrap his arms around Jinki’s waist when the other was brushing his teeth. It just meant that Jinki didn’t know it was happening, and couldn’t return the loving gestures in any way.

Minho liked windy days the most. He was sure that Jinki wasn’t too fond of them, judging by the way his eyebrows would get just the tiniest bit lower on his face when he’d see the trees swaying to mother nature outside of his window. Even if it was the middle of summer, and the air was heated by a certain, blistering, bright orb in the sky, his human would always wrap a scarf around his neck to protect himself from the currents of air. The angel supposed this was due to the fact that the young man had a weak throat, and would always get sick if it was too blustery outside. It was a shame that the long, pretty neck had to be covered, but it was alright in the end, because Minho was able to spend hours inhaling the smell of the scarf afterward, reveling in the sweet, intoxicating scent of fresh pinecones that always hung on his charge’s body.

Jinki liked to keep his hair long, for a male. He’d wait until his bangs covered his eyes before going to the barber’s, and even then, he wouldn’t let them cut more than an inch off. Minho cherished the moments when he could run his fingers through the elder’s silky, soft, brown locks of hair; however, he also took pleasure in seeing the breeze blow those gorgeous strands out of Jinki’s face, revealing the unblemished, pale plane of skin that was the man’s forehead.

Sunny days were appreciated, too, because Minho couldn’t get enough of the way the sun illuminated every wisp of hair on the human’s head, turning the caramel-brown into golden threads. The best part was that Jinki liked the sun-drenched days as well. It was great to have something in common with the love of his life, even if the angel would never get the opportunity to share it with the other.

Occasionally, Minho would slip under the covers and into the bed beside Jinki at night. He’d curl close to the man, breathing deeply despite not actually needing the oxygen, and the bare arm closest to him. The elder liked to sleep in only his boxers, even if it was bitterly cold and right at the heart of winter. The guardian would eventually splay his fingers over the warm, exposed abdomen, and fall into a dreamless sleep. He imagined that this would be what it was like if he was human and needed to rest every time the world was blanketed by the dark.

Listening to Jinki’s heartbeat was the only music Minho could bear. He had a heart himself, after all, what was an angel without a heart? Yet, it didn’t beat with the kind of life the humans had. It didn’t pump anything through his empty veins, it didn’t quicken its pace when he was scared, nervous, or embarrassed, it didn’t do anything. It was nothing more than a hollow thumping in his cavernous chest, an imitation of the humans that heaven claimed to love and care for.

If heaven truly cared for the lives of humans, then it wouldn’t do something like this.

Jonghyun was an angel of death. Even the name sounded morbidly ironic. How could an angel, supposedly the purest creature to ever walk the earth, come hand in hand with such a dark, dangerous thing as death? In spite of this being his calling, Jonghyun didn’t understand something so odd himself.

He was responsible for bringing files to the guardian angel of the human that had been scheduled to die. The files would provide a description of the date, time and cause of death in gruesome detail. Jonghyun kept a copy of the file for himself. He would arrive to take the soul of the human when the being died and then proceed to bring it to an angel of birth. The angel of birth would then place the soul into someone else in the world, someone who had just been born. The humans had given this process the clever name of ‘reincarnation.’

Jonghyun didn’t like his job. Most of the time, guardian angels were attached to their humans, and it hurt when their human died. He despised the times when he’d arrive just a second too early, enough to witness the death of the poor human, and the anguish that their guardian felt as the soul flickered and dulled, dormant until it was time for it to be settled in someone else’s heart. Angels were not good at hiding or lying, so Jonghyun could read their emotions off their features as if it were an open book. He tried to avoid their eyes, tried not to be influenced by the emotions flowing down their cheeks. He couldn’t let himself get off track, this was an important job.

That didn’t mean he liked his job.

No, Jonghyun decided, as he stared at the file in his hands I hate this job.

The black folder that had materialized in his “deathbox” (a witty name for the mailbox in which the folders were placed, to be later picked up by an angel of death whenever he had the extra time) was addressed to Jonghyun’s best friend, Minho. Jonghyun was the only one to know how much Minho loved Jinki, and he could only imagine how Minho would react.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t shatter his friend’s heart like this.

Minho was the only one (other than a particular angel of birth Jonghyun was infatuated with) to even bother befriending an angel of death, as they were typically shunned and hated for the deeds they did. It wasn’t like they had much of a choice in the matter, but hatred wasn’t picky.

There was no way he would do this.

But he had to. It didn’t matter whether the file was delivered or not, that was just a preliminary custom. A favor to the guardian angels, so that they could steel themselves for the horror that would inevitably come. The human’s fate was already sealed.

Jonghyun let out a humorous chuckle. There really wasn’t anything to be laughing about, but he was so astonished at himself and the “God” he followed that the jumble of feeling in the pit of his stomach had warped itself into hilarity. “I’m a terrible person. No, we all are. We say we’re perfect, flawless, and that we know what’s best. But how much do we really know? Nothing. We’re just as bad as the so-called “misled” humans on the planet. We kill, even more often than they do, and does anybody notice? Not at all.”

This wasn’t the first time he had talked to himself. It wouldn’t be the last, either.

“Our hands are bloodied and we’re dirtier on the inside than we are on the outside. Does anybody care? No. Why do we bother? Because God said so? Where is that God now, huh? I’d like to beat a little sense into him.”

Maybe he was a little bit insane, but he had all the reason to be. He loathed the monsters that his own kind had become.

“Innocence? Ha! We strip even that from the humans we pretend to care for. God, damn you. Damn you to hell for doing this.”

Insanity had lifted the veil over his eyes, and he could see the grime that coated their world painfully clear now. He’d have to control it, though. Keep his wild, beastly self hidden deep in the folds of a heart that had stopped beating long ago.

For Kibum, at least, if not for him.

“No,” Minho mumbled, eyes wide. “No, this can’t be possible.” He stared at Jonghyun pleadingly, begging him to say that it was all a joke, that the black file wasn’t really for him. Jonghyun refused to meet his gaze, eyes travelling to the ground instead, like they always did. He had replayed this scene in his head for days, until he finally plucked up the courage to tear his friend to pieces. It was happening just as his crazed mind had invisioned.

“No. No, no, no, no, no! You can’t! I won’t let him die! You can’t stop me!” Minho’s voice was rising in volume until he was screaming. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! He hasn’t done anything!” he shrieked, but now his screams were mixed in with sobs. He could feel himself breaking down, his mind shutting off communication with the rest of his body as he beat at Jonghyun’s chest with tightly clenched fists. It wasn’t the elder’s fault, he shouldn’t be taking his anger out on the bringer of death.

“Why won’t you ing say anything?” he shouted, uttering the first curse word he had ever said in his life. Angels didn’t curse. “Why does it have to be him? Why, God dammit, why?” His gaze alighted upon the file, which he grabbed desperately and started to rip with shaking, unsteady hands, as if shredding it would stop the chain of events that would soon begin.

Jonghyun finally moved from his paralyzed state, taking the file out of Minho hands and hugging his friend, trying to calm the raging guardian angel down. It wasn’t any good, he knew, but it was the best he could do. He had always been rough around the edges and words were not his forte, so he knew that his silent, awkward embrace was less than sufficient. He could feel his insanity tingling at the corners of his dark mind, but he wouldn’t let it come loose, wouldn’t let himself unleash the craziness for fear of convincing Minho to do something as revenge.

Insanity was not a curse, but dragging his friend into such a dangerous, addicting bliss as that was not something Jonghyun intended to do.

Guardian angels were not permitted to interfere in their human’s death. An attempt to do so would result in the loss of their position, which meant that they would immediately be killed and resurrected into a human being instead. They would never have the chance of being a guardian angel again.

Yet again, we stain our hands with crimson, and laugh in the face of death because we think we can overpower it with life.

Life is good, life is pure.

But death is an invincible enemy.

“Lee Jinki. Age: Twenty-three. Date of death: Tuesday, March 5^th, 2013. Time of death: ten forty-seven p.m. Cause of death: Hit by a car late at night on his way home after an unusually long day at work. Instant death. Three broken ribs and a smashed skull,” Minho murmured to himself. He had been repeating the information for the past few hours. There was quite a bit of extra writing in the file, but he had only skimmed through it, ignoring the unnecessary, non-Jinki related things. He didn’t care about the driver, who had to be hospitalized due to a broken arm. It was a tiny price to pay for taking his love’s life.

A wind had picked up, cutting with icy fingers through the air, serving as an omen for the incident that was to come. How could he ever have thought that windy days were nice? No, surely they were the worst kind of weather, the cold, heartless, stream of air was far from soothing any more. How many people had already died on this road? He knew of at least one. He wondered distantly if the screams piercing his ears were a figment of his imagination or the pained screeches of the other human that had died there, several years ago.

He ought to have put an explosive to the dark cement, and damaged the street.

He spotted Jinki, walking far below along the sidewalk, hands buried in the pockets of his warm, winter coat. It was already March, but winter had yet to release its frosty hold on the land and allow the sun’s weak rays to strengthen. The brunette was wearing his favorite scarf. Minho briefly speculated on the color of an angel’s blood. Angels did not bleed, but he was sure he would, if interfered successfully. He hoped that at least the tint of his blood would bring him closer to being a human.

Minho would not let it happen. He didn’t care what would happen to himself afterward, but he would not let Jinki die. Even the thought of it was funny! Where had this sudden urge to giggle come from? No, this was not a laughing matter. He had to concentrate, had to make sure he was mentally prepared. No, that wasn’t right, he’d always been mentally prepared to give his life in exchange for Jinki’s. That was the definition of care, was it not? He didn’t have anything to be ready for, then. He just had to make sure he was on time.

Two minutes remaining.

Minho floated down to walk beside Jinki. He didn’t like to fly above the elder male, as he was afraid that one day Jinki would notice him and wonder why he was so arrogant as to look down, literally, at the humans on the ground. Silly thought, right? That was love, all silly thoughts, goofy smiles, and never-ending adoration. He gazed intently at the one he loved, memorizing all his features. He’d lose his guardian angel position for sure, after this little stunt. Would he remember Jinki when he woke up as a human? Yes, yes of course he would. He loved the man too much to forget him.

One minute remaining.

Minho’s heart was speeding up. That was peculiar. His heart didn’t do that. It was always going at the same, lifeless pace. He wondered which car would be the one. There weren’t many cars on the small street at this time of night. His thoughts were jumped around. Focus!

Thirty seconds remaining.

There were headlights in the distance. Was that the car? His mind had cleared. Good.

Fifteen seconds remaining.

Jinki stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, looked left, looked right, then proceeded to cross the road. Minho wanted to scream, “Idiot!” What a stupid, stupid fool. Couldn’t he wait just a little longer and take those damn earmuffs off? He hadn’t seen the car because it had disappeared behind a bend in the path, but it was close, so close. If not for those earmuffs, the human could have heard the engine in the distance, splintering the nightly silence.

Five seconds remaining.

The car suddenly appeared, headlights glowing brightly. It was a mere five meters away from Jinki.

Three seconds remaining.

Jinki froze in the middle of the road, turning his head to look at the car in shock. There were only two meters between Jinki and the car. The brunette closed his eyes, as if he knew what was coming, as if he was aware of the white-hot pain that would burn all of his nerve-endings.

Two seconds remaining.

Minho pushed Jinki out of the way. The car swerved in the same direction.

One second remaining.

Too late! A cruel voice chimed in the back of his head, the sound of a clock striking twelve with booming bells to punctuate the arrival of midnight. It wasn’t anywhere near midnight, that made no sense.

Was that clock announcing the end of Jinki’s time, or the end of his? Did it matter?

Minho stared at his beloved Jinki, barely registering the blood that had begun to pool at his feet. Guardian angels don’t bleed.

He screamed. Was there ever a more pitiful sound than that of an angel breaking? He was numb, numb all over, but he welcomed it. Numbness was far better than pain. Then again, pain was a sign that he was feeling, that he was at least partially experiencing being human.

He saw rather than felt someone plunging their hand in his chest, pushing through the flesh and grabbing onto his soul. It was Jonghyun. His best friend, Jonghyun, was taking away Minho’s soul, but Minho could not find it in him to care. It was going to happen either way, regardless.

 “Please,” Jonghyun whispered, voice hoarse. He knelt in front of Kibum, each hand holding on to a different soul. “Please, give them a life where they can be together,” he begged, searching Key’s eyes for a positive reply. He had never known himself to be the kind of person that cared, but the urge to do something to defy God was too great. Was it bad, to use his friend for his own selfish desires? Probably. But the line between good and bad, right and wrong, black and white wasn't clear any longer. Besides, it wasn't as bad a sin as killing, which God seemed to have no problem with. The ends justified the means, and Minho would get to have Jinki in another lifetime, so what did it matter?

He was doing it again. Convincing himself that he was doing the right thing. Doubt was a weakness, he needed to isolate it and get rid of it.

Key had never met Minho, but Jonghyun talked so highly of the man. Pleasing Jonghyun was at the top of Kibum’s list of things he had to do at all costs; there was no way he could refuse. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He only wished that Minho hadn’t thrown his guardian life away so carelessly. Kibum was well aware of Jonghyun’s mental illness, him and Minho being the only ones to keep the death bringer grounded. Now, the burden was all on the angel of birth.

Key nodded and held his hands out for the souls. Jonghyun placed them gently, with utmost care, into Kibum’s palms and looked on with tears in his eyes. If only the fleeting bit of care could remain for longer.

Minho grinned as he knocked on Jinki’s door. “Hyung, hurry up! You’re going to be late for school!” he called, holding back laughter when he heard a couple of curses floating in from somewhere further in the house. Typical Jinki. Even if he gave himself an extra half hour to get ready for school, he'd still end up rushing around, dropping things here and there, and most likely waking his mother.

Jinki finally opened the door, looking flustered and out of breath. His hair had yet to be brushed and was all over the place, including in his eyes. It was time for a hair cut. It was windy that morning, but sunny as well; a perfect blend of the two types of weather the couple enjoyed. Even Jinki had eventually warmed to the breeze, after Minho's countless remarks on how beautiful a windblown Jinki was.

“I’ll be right there. Just give me a moment,” Jinki said, and ran off, leaving the door open for Minho to go in. The younger rolled his eyes but waited patiently, grinning when his hyung arrived, backpack in tow.

“Happy birthday hyung,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Jinki passionately on the lips, stealing the brunette's breath. “I have a present for you, so we’ll go to my house after school,” he added, taking Jinki’s hand and interlacing their fingers.

Jinki blushed lightly and smiled up at his boyfriend. “Thank you.”

a/n: And here you have it! :D

I must say, I am SO much happier with this now. It's more than twice as long, with better descriptions and more of a plotline. Woohoo! c:

I liked writing the insanity part. o3o I should really consider writing some more on insanity sometime lol.

Thanks for reading~ <3
-Jess